


All Hallow's Eve

by TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drabble, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Modern Era, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 19:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous/pseuds/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous
Summary: Very old request fill for "Modern-AU/JeanMarco/Spooky-Boyfriends"Marco drags Jean to a Halloween Party. What starts as a rough night ends on a positive note.





	All Hallow's Eve

“Do I even have to go? It's not like I was fucking invited,” Jean groused, standing with legs spread and arms outstretched in the middle of Marco's living room.

 

“Keep _still_ , you'll tear it,” the brunette chided matter-of-factly as he continued to wind the roll of one-ply toilet tissue around the other teenager's limbs. 

 

They'd already used the entire box of band-aids and two ace bandages scrounged from under the bathroom sink in an effort to create the last-minute Mummy costume. Marco was already dressed, face slathered in his mother's green facemask, stitches drawn on in black eyeliner, presenting the effect of Frankenstein's monster.

 

“Of course you were invited.” 

 

“No, **you** were invited,” Jean emphasized pointedly. 

 

Marco's silence spoke volumes, since his friend spoke the truth. Bert and Reiner had mentioned the low-key get-together for Halloween, and he'd asked if he might bring Jean along too. Bert had immediately looked awkward, whilst Reiner cut directly to the point. 'If he becomes a problem, he's  _ your  _ problem, Bodt.” It was unfortunate that his best friend had a reputation for being notoriously … difficult at any kind of social gathering. 

 

“Will you at least **try** to have fun tonight? It's just scary movies -- you don't even have to talk to people if you don't feel like it. Just, I don't know, moan and be spooky, like you're in character ...” 

 

Jean took the cue and ran with it, proceeding to let out a series of gasps and groans clearly inspired by an entirely different genre of film.

 

Marco smacked him, and tried to maintain a straight face, which only seemed to encourage the other boy further. Jean's moaning intensified and the freckled teenager sat back on the carpet, laughing now, and leaving Jean's costume unfinished.

 

 

It took less than an hour for things to go pear-shaped. They'd claimed a spot on one of the couches in Reiner's den as  _ Bubba Ho-Tep _ provided background noise to the idle chatter. Marco kept up with the casual conversation; Jean was uncharacteristically quiet, and perhaps the only one trying to watch the film as it played on low volume, stubbornly adhering to his promise not to say anything, if he didn't have something nice to say. His discomfort was palpable, and Marco did his best to help, mindful to keep passing the bowl of candy Jean's way, so he at least had something to do with his restless fingers. 

 

It was when Eren Jaeger showed up, with Mikasa and Armin in tow, that things immediately went to hell. Marco had made a point not to mention they might be coming, knowing he'd never have convinced Jean to come along otherwise.

 

“So, what's with all the toilet paper, Kirschstein? Is it because you're so full of shit?” 

 

Jean might have been able to let it go, or simply retorted with an insult of his own, if not for the laughter. He suddenly had the sense that the whole room was against him, and even  _ Mikasa _ was laughing at his expense, despite trying to demurely cover her smirk with her hand. His frustration had been building all evening, and finally snapped. 

 

“The fuck you say, Jaeger?!” he demanded, on his feet and fists clenched in mere moments, more than ready to take a swing at the smug little fucker's face and knock those plastic vampire fangs out of his mouth. A bloodsucking little parasite – how fucking appropriate. 

 

Marco knew him well enough to react even quicker, grabbing him by the wrist. “I need a cigarette; come outside with me?”

 

“You don't even sm-- fine,” Jean relented, debating whether or not to be angry at Marco too, for patronizing him. He stormed out onto the front porch, leaving the freckled teen to follow. 

 

“Sorry,” Marco apologised immediately, taking a seat on the porch swing, leaving enough space for Jean to sit beside him. 

 

“What are you sorry for. It's not your fault he's such a prick.” 

 

“I'm sorry for dragging you to this, then. I know it's not your thing.” 

 

“Yeah, well, why would it be? I don't like any of those cunts, and they certainly don't like me.” There was something bitter lurking behind the words, and Marco dreaded the inevitable path of moody resentment and self-pity his best friend was starting down, again. 

 

“Save it, idiot. I like you.” 

 

“Yeah, well, you're touched in the head.” 

 

“Shut up,” Marco retorted, perhaps a little more forcefully than was customary for the typically easy-going young man. This was a side of Jean he hated seeing. “I _like_ you, okay.” 

 

Jean turned to give him a look, brow already starting to furrow in mild confusion, and Marco impulsively made his move, leaning forward to brush a chaste, hurried kiss against the other boy's lips.

 

Long fingers moved to touch his mouth where it had come into contact with the other's, hazel eyes clouded by disbelief and shock. The darker brunette turned a livid shade of red and immediately apologized.

 

“Sorry … sorry. That didn't happen. I'm sorry,” he spoke quickly, hoping that simply getting the words out fast enough might make them true, and erase the past sixty seconds. 

 

“Fuck you, I guess I'm sorry too,” Jean countered, hand shifting to the back of Marco's neck as he pulled him into another kiss. They were both hesitant at first, but within moments, the freckled teenager noted that there was an odd sort of intensity to the way Jean kissed him, twining their free hands together _tight_. There was a hunger lurking there – a desperate need and longing that went beyond anything physical – and for a moment, Marco feared he'd just opened the door to something he wasn't equipped to deal with. 

 

Finally, they parted to try and catch their breath, both red-faced and unable to look one another in the eye.

“How long …?” he asked tentatively, needing to know, and Jean only shrugged in reply. 

 

“I don't know … a while, maybe. I guess.” 

 

“Yeah, same ...” 

 

“That make-up crap on your face is coming off.” 

 

“It's cold out. I had to blow my nose. Hang on ...” Marco reached for some of Jean's 'bandages' and tore off a small handful, before wiping away the stray green-and-black smudges that had made their way onto his friend's skin. More than friends now, right? Or were they not labeling it as anything yet, until they figured out what 'it' was. 

 

“Twenty minutes, ok? Just to be polite?” Chocolate brown eyes were pleading, because Marco had this thing about never wanting to upset anyone. Jean wouldn't argue, because he knew the other boy was also trying to salvage some of his own wounded pride; going back would mean he'd not let Jaeger and his taunting get the better of him. 

 

“Twenty minutes.” 

 

 

 

Their spots on the couch had already been claimed, so they wound up seated on the floor. Jean had to resist every urge and inclination to lean into his companion, to steal whatever tangible reassurance he could as a reminder that what had just happened outside was  _ real.  _ An hour ago, he could have casually lay his head against the freckled teen's shoulder, because they were close friends that way, but now something had changed, and Jean believed everyone would  _ know _ . He wasn't ready to share this with anyone else yet – not while it was still so new. 

 

Instead, he settled for the warmth from Marco's hand where it brushed against his own, just barely. Marco made a point not to move it, and Jean would remain perpetually grateful for that. It was the longest twenty minutes of his life, and he spent the majority of it counting the freckles on Marco's left cheek, coming up with four different sums, before the conversation lulled and his companion pointedly checked his watch.

 

“I really hate to do this, but the 4-H club is doing a Halloween thing tonight as well, and I really promised I'd at least go say hello, maybe help with the clean-up,” Marco voiced with regret. Jean reminded himself to congratulate the other on his acting skills later. 

 

“Jean, you still needed a ride, right? You don't mind the detour?” He was all sympathy and awkward smiles and natural as could be, and the part of Jean that wasn't maybe-probably-in-love with him kind of hated Marco for that. 

 

“Um, yeah. It's fine, I guess.” He played it off casually, rising from his seat with just the right note of abject boredom and frustration, even as his heart started erratically hammering in his chest like a hornet under glass. 

 

 

A few hugs (from Marco) and handshakes (from Jean) later, and they were on their way. Jean couldn't help but fidget restlessly, and his hopes that perhaps Marco hadn't noticed were dashed when a warm hand settled momentarily against his knee.

 

“Shouldn't you be watching the road, maybe?” It was a stupid thing to say, but the awkward silence demanded he say _something_. They'd not talked about it since the confession on Reiner's porch, both seemingly believing that discussing it might ruin it. Marco responded with a bemused chuckle and a shake of his head, dutifully returning his hands to ten and two on the wheel, and leaving Jean to fiddle with the radio buttons until they reached Marco's house. They'd already planned for Jean to spend the night, and so climbing the stairs to the bedroom seemed both ordinary, and imbued with weighty significance. 

 

“Bed,” the freckled teen gestured towards the mattress, urging Jean to take a seat, and although his friend's tone was as affable and cheerful as it had ever been, the word still sent a slither of electricity creeping down his spine to settle between his legs. 

 

For his own part, Marco was still waiting for Jean to call him out for the grin that had been plastered across his face ever since they'd left the party. He was battling down his own case of nervous anticipation, and the smiling was an unconscious defense mechanism.

 

“Do you, ah … is it ok if I kiss you again? Do you maybe want me to go wash my face first?”

 

Jean shook his head adamantly and grabbed the other boy by the wrists, pulling him closer, and Marco was required to kneel down, knees on either side of his friend's, as he crushed their lips together once more. It was a precarious position in which to try and keep his balance, and with an unexpected dominance that seemed to catch them both off-guard, he gently pushed Jean backwards and moved to straddle his waist.

 

Winding and tearing off the 'bandages' proved more fun for Marco than for Jean. The freckled youth treated it like unwrapping a present, carefully and methodically, secretly enjoying the squirming and soft, impatient noises Jean was making beneath his touches. He stopped when he had the last of the toilet-paper and ace-bandages off, pausing with his fingers just below the hem of his friend's t-shirt.

 

“Is it okay?” They hadn't said anything about what the boundaries were yet, how far they wanted to go with this, and Marco was reluctant to cross any lines he wasn't supposed to.

 

Tired of waiting, Jean peeled his own shirt off, any self-consciousness falling by the wayside in his anxious need to feel more of Marco's skin against his own. He reached for Marco's next, managing to get it stuck half-way over the other boy's head, forcing the brunette to finish the job himself.

 

'Clingy' was not a word he'd have ever thought to apply to Jean Kirschstein, but there was seemingly no denying it, as the other teenager pulled him down into an embrace and began affixing his lips to every inch of skin he could reach. It was a little overwhelming, but Marco couldn't deny he was flattered to be the focus of so much attention and need.

 

Jean felt a little embarrassed that he was _hard_ , until he realised Marco was in a similar predicament. That somehow made it ok, and he writhed impatiently, bucking his hips in an unconscious plea for **more.** More what, he didn't know, because he'd never really thought he'd be doing this with another guy, let alone with _Marco_ , but his body definitely wanted something his mind hadn't quite caught up to yet. 

 

Marco was trying to take the lead, and slow things down to a less frenetic pace. They had all night, and he wanted to enjoy and savour this moment whilst it lasted. Disregarding the marks Jean was likely leaving all over his neck, he let one hand intertwine with the other boy's, as the other tangled itself in soft, two-toned hair. He trailed kisses over cheekbones and jawline deliberately, before possessively turning Jean's head and reclaiming his mouth again.

 

Jean let himself melt into the kiss, absorbed in the feeling of Marco's warm, solid weight against him. He could feel the heat and tension coiling rapidly within his veins, but disaster still managed to strike without forewarning.

 

“Ah … **ahh** … shit. Fuck! Sorry! Get off … I'm sorry!” He immediately tried to pull away, throwing up one arm to hide his face. 

 

“What's wrong?! Jean, are you okay?” Dark brown eyes were pools of concern, before the livid red flush across the other boy's cheeks registered. 

 

“Too good … Shit, I'm sorry,” Jean cursed, humiliated by the way his own body had just betrayed him. 

 

“Oh … it's okay … it's really okay … I'll get you something to put on,” Marco offered, trying to will his own arousal to wane as he retrieved a pair of boxers from the dresser. Jean was painfully embarrassed, and although sympathetic, Marco was also flattered and excited to have been the one responsible for getting him to that state, and trying to cover the sense of pride washing over him right now. 

 

As Jean ducked into the upstairs bathroom to change and clean up, Marco used the one downstairs to wash the last of his 'costume' off his face, and likewise, put on a pair of clean pyjama bottoms. He was turning down the blankets on the bed, presuming they could still share like they'd done for every sleepover since they were six, when a slightly subdued Jean returned.

 

“Do you need me to … y'know … take care of you too?” he questioned, scratching at the back of his head - a nervous habit. He felt ashamed of himself for coming too quickly, and more than a little selfish for not doing a better job of considering Marco's needs. 

 

“I, um … I kinda dealt with it already.” Marco's turn to blush this time, even though they'd both admitted to jerking off plenty of times before. “Come to bed with me?”

 

They opted to forgo figuring out who was to be the 'big spoon' and the 'little spoon' in this new dynamic. After what had just happened, Jean was more than a little paranoid about the inevitability of morning wood, and more than content to lie face to face, holding hands. Marco's fingers found their way to his scalp again, petting soothingly, as his own settled against the freckled boy's lower back, thumb rubbing absently against the shallow indentation at the base of his spine.

 

They fell asleep that way, still hesitant and undefined and full of unanswered questions. Nonetheless, they knew enough to rest comfortably, content and secure in the fact that the other was present, and whatever new, nameless bond now existed between them was tangible and real.

 


End file.
